A Tout Le Monde
by MarsWithMick
Summary: The Phantom died long ago, but he remained in his beloved opera house to terrorize those who entered. It was soon repaired to its former glory and reopened to the public, where it remains to this day. For years, he thought of no one but Christine. All changes when a 19-year-old girl comes to the theater with a chance at a painting career.
1. Chapter 1

"Some people born into this world live their lives without feeling their own worth. They linger behind the curtains of a stage, they control the backdrops during a musical, and they paint the scenes that all sincerely enjoy. They pin and stitch each costume with everything they can to please others. They watch from behind the scenes with a lust for just five minutes in the spotlight."

Alison looked from her paint-spotted shirt to the elderly woman in front of her. She had to say, the elderly woman known as Madame Petit was incredibly terrifying for someone so short. She had an almost comical look with half-moon glasses and patterned clothing from some foreign country. Alison knew, however, that this woman was _not_ someone to toy with judging by the nervous glances several of the stagehands sent the older woman's way.

"There's different - _many_ different - roles that people play in the theater and most of those include the roles very sparsely recognized by the consumers. But, without them, there would be no show." Alison couldn't help but agree with the statement - living with an old actress for most of her life had taught her to appreciate those who worked behind the scenes. She had watched her mother perform almost every night until she was the brightest star she could be.

"The logic stood true in 1870, and stands true still in 2017. Times have changed but some things haven't, madame." Madame Petit looked deep into Alison's bright blue eyes to check if her newest employee was truly listening to what she was saying. At the focused look, she knew her answer and turned to open her arms to the opera house.

"The Opera Populaire had been the place to be in its heyday, before the mysterious events of 1870 took place. The night where the chandelier collapsed from the ceiling during Don Juan, killing several, the theater was abandoned by its former owners. There was an auction in 1919 where several items within the opera house were sold to private investors. By the 1920's, the theater was in complete ruins and the city of Paris threatened to demolish the old building. That's when another investor - a rich composer named Louis Duchesneau - bought the opera house with the intentions of restoring it to its former glory. During renovations, however, the opera house faced several mysterious events that included curtains falling without people nearby, statues falling from cranes that had been precisely strapped, and other such events." Alison tilted her head to the side in curiosity and Madame Petit raised her perfectly pencilled-in eyebrow.

"But today, the opera house still stands strong and part of Paris. However, this building is said to be the most haunted of this city. Do not let that deter you. At least five of my painters come to me every year with complaints, but they never amount to anything. I expect I will not hear foolish complaints?" She was a woman Alison (once again) hoped to never make angry, because the single glare she sent her way was enough to make Alison want to look away.

"Of course not, Madame Petit," Alison responded with the kindest voice she could muster. "I know that my mom used to perform here, and she mentioned strange phenomenon, but what exactly causes this place to be so haunted?"

"Put two and two together, mademoiselle. What famous novella has come from our beautiful city?" Madame Petit looked at Alison expectantly as she thought back to the French literature course she had taken the previous year during her first year of college. She thought of the books she had read to prepare for leaving America with the opportunity of working for a real opera house in the heart of Paris.

"Well, I know of a book called Phantom of-" She was cut short by Madame Petit raising a hand, a satisfied smile on her face.

"He is known as the Phantom of the Opera. I am sure you have read the book, no?" Alison nodded and so did she. "Of course, of course."

"But, Madame Petit," Alison said, following the shorter woman backstage. "That story was fiction. It wasn't real. My professor said-"

"Ah, young lady, that is where you are mistaken. It was based off the sightings of a young man the night the theater lost its prized chandelier," she said, wagging a finger her way. "The Phantom may not be real, but his inspiration for the character is. Many here come to believe he is real after a few days."

Alison could've laughed at the thought, but said nothing in fear of losing the job she had worked towards since her teenage years.

"Of course, the phenomenon of this opera house has been pinned to the Phantom, but his true identity and the truth behind if he is real remains a mystery." She paused, clapped her hands together, and turned to face the younger girl. "In your time at this opera house, you will learn the basics of working behind the scenes, while some of you will pursue lives on the stage. You will leave a strong, independent woman with knowledge on proper set-painting."

"How long have you worked here?" she asked, and Madame Petit turned with a soft glare.

"Over 30 years. I have loved each minute of my work," she replied. She glanced behind Alison, tightened her face, and slicked back a loose hair from her otherwise tight bun. She beckoned for Alison to follow and turned without waiting for a reaction. Alison turned to look behind her where Madame Petit's gaze had been. At seeing nothing, she shrugged it off and ran to catch up with the woman.

As they passed, many of the dancers, singers, and stagehands moved for them to pass. Some whispered to their neighbors with their eyes placed on the new girl. As soon as the elder glanced their way, however, they stopped to get back to work. Madame Petit had obviously made her mark on them, and Alison made a note to ask others why that would be. They walked towards tall boards lined against the walls that had one coat of paint and a few landscapes outlined as well.

"These are the boards you will paint on with the others," she said, a hand placed against the surface. "Your resume said that you had experience with painting sets, so I expect your work to be neat and clean as well as artistic."

She began walking again and reached a large room full of women sewing costumes.

"Ah, Madame Durand, come meet my newest painter!" Madame Petit said, resting a hand against Alison's arm. A middle-aged woman looked up from work, smiled, and walked over.

"Bonjour, young mademoiselle. Who might you be?"

"Oh, I'm Alison. Alison Monahan." She lifted a hand, but Madame Durand had other ideas. She pulled Alison forward and kissed her twice on both cheeks. Alison blushed as she realized she had already forgotten French customs. "I must look stupid for raising my hand."

"Ah, of course not!" Madame Durand took Alison's hand in both of hers and smiled kindly at the girl. "Americans have their customs, we have ours. I've heard that you're the daughter of Sara Monahan, correct? My daughter, she loves her movies."

Alison forced a smile to show she meant not to be rude. At the mention of her mom, however, she felt bitter to the bone and tried not to glare at the woman. She was only trying to be nice, Alison figured, even though she didn't want to think about that woman. "I am sorry to hear of her death, of course. Rest her soul."

"Thank you," Alison replied, although she felt like running away. She didn't.

Madame Petit began to walk away again, and she was forced to follow. She brought them to an office at the back, where an older gentleman sat in a leather chair on his computer. Once they had walked in, he brought his eyes from the screen and looked us over.

"Madame Petit, how may I help?" he asked, or what Alison assumed he asked as her French still wasn't the best it could be.

"This is Ms. Monahan. The painter you insisted would be perfect for my team," she said, and looked at Alison accusingly. _I feel at home already_. "I trust your opinion, of course, but I _do_ expect her to give her best effort and nothing short."

"Of course. Ms. Monahan, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. When I saw your resume and your portfolio, I knew you would be perfect for the opera house," he said, standing to take her hand in his. He smiled and planted a kiss on it. "I believe Madame Petit has given you a tour?"

"She has," Alison replied, looking over his face. He had round brown eyes, graying hair, and a scruffy beard. He wore a suit with a red tie and big glasses.

"I am Mr. Agen, but I request that you call me Charles." He smiled at her and she smiled back. He sat back at his desk, then pulled out a white envelope. Within, Alison could see something protruding through the middle that looked like a stack of papers. "Madame Petit, please take this. You know where it goes, of course."

"Of course." She ducked out of the room as soon as the envelope was in her hand, and Mr. Agen beckoned to a chair.

"Please, sit." She did, and Mr. Agen looked over her face. "I knew your mother at the beginning of her career. She performed here once or twice."

Alison looked down at her hands as she realized that these people knew her mother, knew her heritage, and would rather discuss that than anything else. She refused to show her true feelings to the subject, however, and nodded along with a soft smile.

"She mentioned it," Alison said.

"She wanted you to have a job here. You love painting, she told me. You'd enjoy it here." Alison and her mom had talked about this place before she died, and Alison had decided she would pursue a career here. She was thrilled at the news, but the fact that she was helping Alison with it didn't change the way she felt.

"I suppose that's another thing I have to thank her for," Alison said, and Mr. Agen laughed.

"Yes, yes. Now, remind me - you chose residential living, correct?"

"Yes. Madame Petit told me my room was in a different wing of the opera house?"

"Correct." As soon as Alison opened her mouth to respond, Madame Petit walked into the room with her face looking tighter than usual. "I have business to attend to. I do hope you enjoy working here."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you," Alison said, then smiled and followed Madame Petit from the room. She was walking fast for someone of her stature, and Alison once again struggled to keep up. It was hard to follow her and take in the beauty of the theater at once, but she managed to catch glimpses here and there.

It was a beautiful building with red velvet curtains, golden statues, and a crystal chandelier. While looking at the balconies overhead where stagehands were adjusting ropes, she happened to notice something strange higher than any of the men. Before she could take a closer look, however, Madame Petit scolded her for falling behind and pulled her away.

He had been pocketing the envelope Madame Petit had brought when he noticed her shrill voice scolding once again. The Phantom sighed to himself - thirty years, he thought. Thirty years of her screaming, and it still never gets old. Who could be her victim this time?

Of course, he appreciated her company at times and knew she was a perfect asset for the theater. She also delivered his monthly paychecks, and ensured box 5 left empty for his use.

"Already falling behind, foolish girl! I expect better for someone working in such an elite building!" Her scolding shook him from his thoughts and he looked down to see the older woman pulling a young girl towards the back of the building. He hadn't seen her before and assumed she was a new stagehand. She certainly didn't look like any performer he had seen before.

The Phantom smiled to himself as he watched the two retreat from the backstage area. _New victims to terrorize. How convenient for me._


	2. Chapter 2

"Be ready by 6 in the morning. I expect you to be no later at the bottom of the staircase. You may unpack, then join the others for dinner down the stairs." The door softly closed and Alison looked at where her boss had stood moments before. She held her tongue to refuse saying anything else, deciding to save it for her writing that night. She already didn't like Madame Petit as much as she hoped.

Alison looked around her room. There was a single bed in the room that was made up with starchy sheets and a blue quilt and feather pillow. Her suitcases sat on the sheets of the bed, still closed and ready to be unpacked. The vanity in the room took up the most space with a large mirror attached to the wall and a clear area to place various perfumes and cosmetics. Alison made a note to place those specific items there.

On the wall opposite the bed was a wardrobe that reached the top of the wall and held wire hangers for her clothing. The window next to her bed was circular and cast shadows across the floor with the midday sun.

Alison sat on the bed with her feet tucked under herself as she looked at the barren walls. She couldn't believe she was finally in Paris, the city she had dreamed to live in one day. She had been to France once in her life, but it was only for a connecting flight and she didn't see much of anything. Now, her second time in the country, she had seen the bright lights of the Eiffel Tower and fell in love with the glow of the city. She hadn't seen anything else, or tasted the legendary foods and wines, but hoped to do that soon.

She opened her suitcase and looked down at her clothes, wondering if she packed the right clothing to wear for the opera house. She wasn't sure what they wore in Paris, or if there was a certain dress code. She only packed two dresses and a nice suit while the rest of her options were t-shirts, sweatpants, shorts, or jeans. She had two pairs of shoes - her old Converse and her athletic shoes. Nothing else, as she figured she would spend enough time in the city to go shopping for other clothes. She never wore anything name-brand, much to her mom's displeasure - Alison just didn't like the clothes that kids like her with her type of social status seemed to wear. She didn't like heels. She didn't like cropped shirts. She didn't like makeup caked on. She didn't like the trends of the day.

She pulled out her photographs from the top of the pile of clothes, examining each one closely. There were several of her with her mom, most of them out in public, and some of her with her dad. There was even the occasional photo with her younger sister, Caroline. She hung up the photos next to her bed, and placed the single framed photo on her desk. It was her favorite - a picture of her and a friend from college. Jake, who was hugging her, was the only real friend she'd had. When they'd met, he never knew that she was the daughter of Sara Monahan but he still treated her kindly. That was how she knew he would be a great friend.

Alison looked out the closed window to the streets of Paris, looking to see if there were any familiar faces. There were tourists with cameras, residents with groceries, parents with children. There were even elderly couples making their way down the street.

When Alison had realized she hadn't moved for a full minute, she walked back to her suitcase to continue the process of settling in. She hummed quietly to herself as she started placing shirts on hangers, folding pants into drawers, and carefully tucking her dresses away. When she had begun to hang up a large Wicked poster, there was a knock on the door followed by it opening.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle!" Alison looked over the petite blonde in the doorway who was wearing light overalls and a short shirt. She had her hair in two long plaits tied with red ribbons. "Ah, you must be the American, correct?"

"That's me," Alison said with a kind smile. She held out a hand, and the girl looked at it curiously before shaking it lightly. "I'm Alison Monahan. Just call me Ali."

"Ah, Ali. I like that!" She kissed Alison twice on the cheek, then pulled back to smile at her. "I am Adele Martin."

"Nice to meet you. Are you from France? You have a beautiful accent," Alison said, standing onto a chair in the room to hang a second poster.

"I am! Such a beautiful country." Adele sat down on her bed, watching her work. "I am sorry to intrude. I heard from the dancers that a new painter was here."

"Yep, that's me," she replied, placing the poster on the wall.

"I see, I see. And you've met Madame Petit?" Alison turned around with a lopsided smile, her blue eyes shining with humor. Her chestnut brown locks gleamed in the sunlight in a wild mess of curls.

"Yes." Adele laughed, throwing her head back.

"Oh, Madame Petit! She's terrifying, but she is the greatest teacher I have ever had. You will learn to love her," Adele said, "and she will learn to love you."

"She seems intimidating," Alison admitted, stepping down from the chair.

"Ah, she always does that with the new stagehands." Adele stood from the bed and picked at the paint on her hands. "A test of strength."

"I see."

"And I assume she told you of our Phantom?" Adele asked, scanning a picture of Alison with her little sister. Alison furrowed her eyebrows, turning to look at the friendly girl.

"She did. But it's a book."

"My favorite, actually." She stood straighter and brushed off her shoulder. "But I - and the other stagehands, of course - know he exists, mind you."

"How?" Alison asked, genuinely interested. "I find it hard to believe."

Adele glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the wardrobe and later the mirror. Her eyes finally landed on Alison.

"I've met him, of course. During a practice set. He sent us a note, demanding our lead to resign, but she refused. Her leg was broken when part of the set fell on her without anyone around," she explained, "I was sent to go backstage and find the problem. Instead, I found him lingering above the stage. He looked at me before disappearing."

"Maybe it was-"

"Trust me, that's what I thought as well. But you can't mistake a white mask like his." She walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob. "It is almost time for supper. Join me?"

"Just let me grab my phone," Alison replied, digging through the second suitcase for it. Once it was tucked in her pocket, she followed Adele down the hallway. She stopped five doors down and pointed to one that had her name on it.

"That would be my room, of course. You need anything, you come to me." She continued on until she reached the end of the hall and pointed into the large bathroom there. "Our bathrooms. Shared with four others. All are decent girls, do not worry."

They turned down the hallway until they reached the elevators and Adele hit the down button. Alison looked at the brightly-painted murals on the walls, the flowers in vases. The doors opened and both girls stepped into the elevator. It was a short trip down two floors, and once they were down there they joined a small group of four other girls that Alison assumed were the other painters. They looked towards Adele and smiled, all gravitating towards the small girl. Then they noticed Alison and looked at her curiously.

"My friends, this is Alison. The girl Madame Petit told us of three weeks ago," Adele said, locking arms with Alison with a smile. "She is a sweet girl. This is Julia, Antoinette, Josephine, and Carmen."

The dark-haired girl with dark eyes said, "I would be Josephine, head painter."

"And newly engaged," one behind her laughed, causing a laugh to erupt from her throat. "We will miss you when you move out!"

"Congratulations," Alison said, smiling brightly. "It's nice to meet you all. I can't wait to begin work with you."

"We as well. I have seen your work from Madame Petit. It is stunning, mademoiselle!" She smiled over again to the redhead who paid her the compliment.

"Oh, thank you. I am Antoinette. Named after the beheaded," she said dramatically, making a slicing motion across her neck. "Oh, my mother . . ."

Carmen was the last girl, who looked much like Josephine but softer and wider. She smiled when her eyes met Alison's.

"I love the blue of your eyes, young mistress," Antoinette said, following Josephine down another hallway to what Alison assumed was a kitchen. "So vibrant, lively."

"Oh, thank you."

"What region of America do you come from?" Carmen asked as Adele linked arms with Alison once more.

"Chicago area," Alison replied. "You know it?"

"I do! Oh, what is it like? I have wanted to go for _years_!" Carmen had a hopeful look in her eyes, and Josephine rolled her eyes.

"Little sister, calm yourself."

"I hate when you call me that," Carmen muttered, crossing her arms. "You are as rude to me as the Phantom."

Alison raised her eyebrow at the mention of the Phantom again, but said nothing.

"And what has he done to you, other than move your paintbrushes? Or was that a lie as well?" Josephine had a satisfied smile on her lips, and Carmen glared at her sister.

"I _did not_ move them. I do not know what I did to anger him."

"Ah, you do not have to make him angry. He only enjoys toying with us, remember?" Antoinette said, and then looked over at Alison. "Do not be frightened if he moves your belongings. He likes new stagehands."

 _Great,_ Alison thought to herself as they walked into a large kitchen with several tables. Many of the stagehands were already sitting at the tables, eating different foods. _A supposed phantom haunting me? I doubt that . . ._


	3. Chapter 3

Alison soon learned that when Madame Petit said to be down by a certain time, she _always_ meant five minutes earlier. She woke up the next day to begin her first day of work and realized that she had exactly one hour before it began. She quickly pulled her hair into a long ponytail, applied minimal makeup, and threw on comfortable clothes. She left her room ten minutes early exactly when Josephine was going down the halls, knocking on everyone's doors.

"Morning," she greeted, beating on her sister's door. "I did not have to warn you about times."

"What do you mean?"

"Madame Petit likes all her patrons to be downstairs five minutes prior. I did not have to warn you of that." She looked impressed, and Alison shrugged her shoulders.

"It was the same way backstage in Chicago." She silently thanked her previous employer for the preparation and stepped out of the room. Adele slowly walked out of her room dressed in another pair of overalls covered in paint. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and her hair still in plaits.

"Must be exciting for you," she said, walking to Alison with a tired smile. "First day."

"I'm more nervous than anything, to be honest." Alison glanced back into her room at the wardrobe, looking back at the shirts neatly lined inside. "I had enough trouble finding a good outfit."

She shut the bedroom door and walked with Adele to the stairs, as Adele moving would help wake them up more. By the time they had reached the main level, Carmen was already waiting at the end of the stairs. Adele excused herself to wash her cup, and the other three girls soon joined them at the bottom. Madame Petit arrived precisely five minutes before she had asked them to be there, around the same time Adele snuck up behind Alison to wait.

"I see you are all here," she said stiffly, eyeing Alison particularly. "You should all know your tasks for the day. Alison, I will be showing you your work for today. The rest of your are excused except for Josephine."

The girls aged older than Alison dispersed down the hallway to the stage, leaving only Madame Petit, Josephine, and Alison.

"I expect nothing less than hard work from you today. Josephine will show you the set we will be working on today, and I will teach you the proper way to paint it," Madame Petit said, then turned to the head painter. "I trust Josephine to do a great job training you as well."

"Of course," Josephine said with a soft smile. "Ali, we're painting the set for Tartuffe. A very popular comedy."

"I've heard of it," Alison said with a slight nod.

"Carmen and Adele are outlining the image of the house, of course. Antoinette is in charge of scene 3's set, which is what you will be working on as well." Madame Petit nodded her head in agreement.

"Follow me." Again, Madame Petit began to walk and Alison had to run to keep up. They reached the stage in no time where the paint, brushes, and plywood were stored. Carmen and Adele were already hard at work on the 3-dimensional house, sometimes whispering to each other. Josephine came to them a few seconds later and began to pull out her supplies.

"Paintbrushes, paint, set." Madame Petit pointed to each item, then picked up a paint brush. "These are not cheap. I expect them to have not one speck of paint by the end of the day. Clean with only approved soaps and water."

Alison, out of her peripheral vision, noticed a shadow move across the wall of the building. She didn't dare a glance over but figured it was simply a stagehand working out the technicalities of the set.

"Paint up and down. It will take more than one coat - do _not_ lather. If you do, I will know and you will be fired. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Alison could feel stressed already about messing up, but swallowed it down with a kind smile.

"Good. Now, get to work." Madame Petit walked away and Josephine walked to her.

"She can be intimidating, I know," she said, then pointed to a pulley. "I'll have you work on the bench up top today. Have you done so before?"

"Once, when I was little."

"Simple to use, just tug the ropes. Get your paint, brushes, and get to work!" Alison nodded as Josephine handed her two gallons of paint and three paintbrushes as well as other supplies. She carried them to the platform, set them down, and sat on top of it. Once she was secured, she pulled on the rope to lift herself. When she was twenty-five feet up, she stopped and looked over the bare wood in front of her. Then she opened the can of light paint, lifted her paintbrush, and began her work.

She moved efficiently and made sure to follow the rules she was given, and worked without another word for the next hour. She would occasionally answer Josephine's questions, or laugh at a comment Adele made her way. She enjoyed working on the platform, as it was quiet and easy to focus.

She had finished the first section and was currently working on the second when Madame Petit beckoned her to come back down. She did as quickly as allowed, carefully stopped, and stood to greet her. Madame Petit looked at the work from the ground with a stern expression and her hands on her hips.

"Mediocre, I suppose. But not the worse I have seen," she said. "I do not enjoy seeing paint strokes unless they are meant to be. Careful of that. Work in one direction."

"I will," Alison said, wondering if Madame Petit was just looking for reasons to hate her work. She said nothing else to her, and instead, turned to Josephine.

"Josephine! Switch places with Alison." Josephine set her brushes down and went to the platform. She was up where Alison had been in just a few seconds and Alison took Josephine's place. For the first few strokes, Madame Petit stood hovering over her shoulder. She made comments about her work, or things she needed to do, and spoke of tips. Alison was finally relieved when she walked away.

"She's harsh, huh?" Adele said, walking over during a short break. "Yeah, it was the same for me. She will like you in a week or two, don't worry. At least you were not dropped from the platform your first day."

"What?" Alison asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah, Phantom does not like me much, I suppose. It was him, I know it." She looked accusingly to the rafters of the building, waved to a few stagehands, then looked back at Alison's work. "I'm surprised he hasn't done anything to _you_ yet."

"I guess I haven't given him a reason yet," Alison muttered under her breath, tired of hearing about this strange Phantom that everyone seemed to be terrified of.

"He does not need reason." Adele walked away then, and Alison returned to focusing on her work. She was careful not to allow any strokes to show through. She wasn't all too impressed with her work, however, and began to push herself to make it better.

It was good enough for the Phantom, however. He watched from the rafter above her, piecing together what he would do to scare her. She was obviously different than the others - she held her fear well, according to Madame Petit, and she was very kind. To him, she was doing a great job with painting for her first day. He assumed she was a naturally-gifted artist by the way she moved without trouble.

He still hadn't seen her face, only her hair and her back. Every time he would move to see how she looked, she seemed to know and turned in the opposite direction.

The Phantom ducked into the shadows as a stagehand walked past, laughing about some story from a local bar. He rolled his eyes, then returned to his spot. It was then that he decided the best way to scare her would be to catch her by surprise.

He released his sword from his belt and cut the rope in front of him holding up a small platform. The rope and platform plummeted to the ground quietly without being seen for one second before the silly redhead noticed it. She yelled for the girl to move aside, but it was a moment too late and the platform crashed a few feet away. He laughed quietly to himself as the girl jumped into the air, dropping the paintbrush onto the plastic lining on the ground, and nearly tripped over the paint bucket. She hadn't yelled, but gasped from lack of time - she now held a hand over her heart and looked up to the rafters to see why it had fallen.

He finally saw her face and examined it in the limited time he had. A long face surrounded by loose curls, and a button nose. She had no cupid's bow, just lips - a beauty mark on her chin - a faint, _very_ faint, scar on her forehead - soft, pale skin - and finally, her eyes. They were well-rounded and framed by long eyelashes. They were baby blue, vibrant, and scanned the area quickly. He wondered how they moved as fast as they did.

She was a lovely girl, but it didn't compare to . . .

He stopped at the thought, an array of emotions bubbling up from his heart. _Christine._

He didn't even notice her eyes land on him as he looked to the ground. He still felt a strong feeling of love for the woman he had let go, and anger for the man who stole her away. He longed to feel his Christine once more, although she had perished long ago. When he looked up from his sorrow, his eyes met those of the girl and he watched as a soft eyebrow rose.

She looked over the white mask, then his own raised eyebrow, and scanned the face peering down at her. As soon as she blinked, however, he was gone and the others had run over to ask if she was okay, distracting her from searching again.


	4. Chapter 4

Alison collapsed into her bed after working, deciding to skip dinner for the night to sleep instead. Her feet were tired from standing most of the day and her clothes were covered with paint, but even then she was happy that her first day was over. She loved the theater already, and enjoyed the few people she had met already, and loved the thought of staying in the theater for a long time to come. Even though she was frightened after almost being hit with a platform, she managed to continue working as if nothing had happened. Madame Petit scolded the stagehands, but was (admittedly) impressed to Alison's lack of reaction. Even the Phantom, who had watched the work happen, was taken aback by the fact that she had not screamed for her life at his actions.

She sighed and sat up on the bed, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were tired, her hair a mess, and makeup sweating down her face. She sighed before removing the makeup with a tissue next to the bed. Alison stood and walked to the wardrobe to pull out her pajamas for the night. When she opened the door, she noticed something . . . _off_ . . . about it.

Her clothes were wrinkled and put in different places than they had been. She automatically wondered if one of the girls had ruffled through her things and she felt anger before remembering they had all been downstairs with her, always within sight, and had taken breaks with her. There was no way they could have gone through her things. It wasn't as if anything was gone, either - all of her clothes were still accounted for.

She looked further into the wardrobe, pushing clothes aside to see if there were any clues as to why her clothes looked different. If she had not looked closely enough, she wouldn't have noticed the small hatch at the bottom of the wardrobe that was otherwise hidden from sight.

Alison raised an eyebrow as she looked at it, then to the rest of the wardrobe. She placed her hand on the small latch, pulled, and watched the wood pulled away to reveal a tunnel behind her wardrobe.

She gasped audibly and moved back to look at it.

 _This is something straight from a horror movie_ , she thought as she shook her head. _But . . . Phantom of the Opera . . . the story had secret passages . . . but it's fiction! There's no phantom!_

 _. . . Then explain the incident today. No one was close to that platform._

She furrowed her eyebrows as she continued to stare at the tunnel, debating on whether or not to enter it. She went with her gut, closed the hatch, and slammed the wardrobe door shut. She had hoped to sleep well that night, but she couldn't help but feel frightened at the thought of sleeping there. She exited her room and went to Adele's before knocking on the door.

Adele answered shortly after and French music from within billowed into the hallway. She was currently eating a strange food Alison had never seen.

"Bonjour," Adele greeted, then held the door open wider. Alison would have taken the time to look at the walls covered in posters had it not been for the fact she was still scared.

"Adele, can I look in your wardrobe?" Alison asked, eyebrows raised and a serious look on her face. Adele tilted her head to the side.

"Um . . . okay . . . I do not understand why you - oh, wait!" Alison stopped mid-step to the wardrobe and turned around. "I keep forgetting, you have the Narnia room. Lion, witch, wardrobe, yeah?"

 _"What?"_

"There are tunnels around everywhere, Ali. There is one behind the wardrobe."

"Wait, you knew?" Alison shook her head, looking at Adele in disbelief.

"Did you not? Did Madame Petit inform you?" Alison shook her head. " _Oh_ . . . I apologize."

"Why is there a tunnel behind the wardrobe? Why is there one in my room?"

"It is the oldest room in this wing, of course. Part of the original building!" Adele's casual response made Alison blink at her a few times before shaking her head. "Do not worry. It has not been used for years. Treat it as . . . _as_ . . . a special gift!"

" . . . Got it." Alison left the room and walked back to hers while eyeing the wardrobe wearily. She felt lonely all of a sudden as she looked at the handcrafted item, and wondered if what Adele had said was true. She was curious to see what the tunnel led to, of course, but she didn't want to find something she wouldn't like.

For the moment, she decided that she would leave the wardrobe alone and pretend it wasn't there.

 _I don't feel like dying today_ , she thought to herself. Alison laid down on the bed and stared at the tall ceiling before closing her eyes. She focused on her breathing until she slipped into a dream.

Adele slipped into her room as soon as she was sure Alison was asleep, and remained as quiet as she could. She tiptoed to the wardrobe and opened it, careful to keep noise to a minimum. She searched for the hatch Alison had found, and once her eyes landed on it, she froze with wide eyes.

She hadn't lied to Alison about the hatch - they had known it was there. For the few years she worked there, though, she had always been told it wasn't in use. Adele would have believed it, too, had she not seen the tunnel illuminated with candles. She simply sat there, staring in, before replacing the piece of wood and closing the wardrobe. Adele looked over at Alison once again and smiled softly.

There was something about the girl that she happened to like - maybe it was her kindness, or it was the strange aura she set off. Adele hadn't talked much to her, but she knew she was rather shy, but knew how to have conversations. There were things she would say, and some she wouldn't. Opposite to herself, but the same.

She smiled softly again in Alison's direction before leaving the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Within a week, Alison had grown accustomed to how things went in the theater and she had formed a schedule. At 6 in the morning, she awoke, showered, dressed, and did her makeup. She either put her hair into a ponytail, let it stay down her back, or allowed Adele to style it herself. She then put on her shoes and walked to breakfast with either Adele or Josephine, who she talked to the most, and had something light on her stomach. They all went to the bottom of the stairs with ten minutes to spare to wait for Madame Petit.

When she eventually came and assigned them their jobs, they dispersed for work. Alison was usually given the task of applying the first coat to the board while Josephine and Antoinette worked on the final product. Alison would take one 5-minute break during the morning, then eat lunch along the stage with Josephine. Afterwards she worked for a few hours, took another short break, and finished up the work for the day. Dinner came after work, and then they had a few hours to themselves. Josephine told her that some days they would have off, depending on how far along the set was and when the show was. A day off hadn't come yet, and Alison didn't allow herself to hope for one soon.

It was late afternoon and she, along with Carmen, watched as Josephine added the finishing touches to the last backdrop. They were surrounded by other stagehands and a few of the dancers as they watched the last few strokes. Within minutes she had stopped and stood from her place on the ground to look at it with everyone else.

Alison loved the set, as it looked more realistic than any set she had seen before. She smiled to herself as she looked at it and Madame Petit walked to her side. She still had a harsh attitude towards Alison, but she didn't criticize her work as often as before.

"Marvelous, Josephine!" she said, and Josephine smiled. "The show tomorrow night will be perfect! Painters, clean up the rest of the set, and then you may finish today's work. I expect you all to be down here tomorrow morning to help with stagehands for the show. Out of the way, now! Dancers and actors and singers need the stage!"

Everyone dispersed backstage and Alison picked up a paint can on her way out. She cleaned the brushes she found and sealed the buckets while Adele dried their tools.

"They will start practicing now," Adele said, placing the brushes aside. "And there is an amazing view of the show up above. Would you like to see it?"

"Sounds fun," Alison replied. She finished cleaning the last of the bunch and waited for Adele to finish. She beckoned Alison to follow her and the pair walked away from the stage to where the seats were.

"What kind of music do you like?" Adele asked to break the silence. "You never talk about yourself."

"Anything. I like musicals the most, though," Alison replied. "And you?"

"More of a classical girl." They ascended the stairs up to the top level of the building and Alison looked around at the detailed paintings on the walls. "You never talk during work, either."

"Habit, I guess." They reached the top floor and Adele smiled as they walked down the hallway.

"I found this a year ago. It is _amazing_." They reached what looked like a small broom closet and Alison raised an eyebrow as Adele opened the door. She stepped inside and saw that it really _was_ a broom closet with a single door on one wall. Everything was dusty and there was a pack of cigarettes on a wooden box and a poster against one wall.

"I come here a lot," Adele said, beckoning to the items. "It is calming."

She opened the door and stood aside to allow Alison to walk through. As soon as she did, her eyes went wide and she looked down at the opera house seats with a gasp.

The chandelier was in front of her eyes, sparkling in the artificial light. The murals along the dome-shaped roof depicted scenes from ancient Greece, bare women and men, all painted years ago. From where she was standing, the dancers looked small but the view of everything else outweighed that.

"Wow," Alison muttered, walking along the golden railing. "It's _beautiful_ up here."

"Yeah, it is." Alison heard a beep and turned around to see Adele answer a call. She began to talk quickly in French, then lowered her phone with a hand over the speaker. "My mother . . . I will be right back."

She walked back into the room, closing the door behind her. Alison could barely tell there was a door in the wall. She walked around the railing with her eyes never really leaving the chandelier or the glimmering lights on the stage. She stopped a few steps from the other side of the roof and leaned against the railing to watch the show.

She thought about her mom, and her dad, and her sister. She thought about her mom's role in musicals - her dad, always on the phone with some big shot - her sister, singing on Broadway for thousands. And then there was Alison, a simple painter in the best opera house in Paris. She took that as a great feat, but still felt like the black sheep of her family. She loved them, but she never felt like she was really part of them. She was never the _famous_ Monahan.

There was a shift from somewhere close and Alison moved to look across from her. When she did, she had expected to see Adele, not the man with a white mask covering half of his face. Her eyes went wide at the realization that this was the same man she had seen her first day of work. Immediately, she began walking to him. As soon as she did, he ran in the opposite direction to the closest door. She was faster than he was and reached the door when he had closed it. She opened it and saw his retreating back as he ran. She followed him up another winding staircase, through a doorway, and onto the roof of the building. It was a cloudy day, but there was no rain. And there was no sight of the strange man.

"Hello?" she asked, looking around in confusion. She looked behind the large bronze statues and saw no one. "You're the one they all talk about, aren't you?"

"That would be I." She jumped, turned around, and was face-to-face with the very man she had been searching for. He had light blue eyes and a handsome face - thin lips, long nose, cocked eyebrow. One half of his face was covered by a white mask, partially over his perfectly combed black hair. He was dressed like someone straight out of the 1800's in a waistcoat, vest, and black cape. As soon as she looked into his eyes, she felt something . . . _strange_. She forgot about her purpose for the moment, forgot about her pursuit. She even forgot about her family and her friends.

The Phantom himself felt something strange once he was up close with the girl. She had a strange aura around her, and she didn't seem fearful anymore. She seemed more curious than anything. It was something he had noticed about her.

While the other stagehands whispered about himself and feared when he would strike, this girl hadn't. She simply hadn't believed it to be true, or so he assumed. But now he knew that she believed in something supernatural and accepted it.

"The Phantom of the Opera," she said, thinking about the book. "You were _real_."

"I was. I am." She walked to the edge of the building, breaking their eye contact to look down at the people walking. She appeared to be thinking deeply and she was.

"You're the one who made the platform fall," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That wasn't a nice notion. Especially for a beginner."

He said nothing - he didn't feel bad about what he had done. It wasn't like he had hurt her, or killed her. For the past few days he had actually humored himself with the reaction she had on her face. But now, he felt nothing for what he had done. Something in her soft voice . . .

"Do you have a name?" she asked at his silence.

"Do you not fear me?" he replied with a raised eyebrow. "A murderer? A _phantom_?"

"If you wanted me dead, you'd have killed me by now," Alison reasoned with a shrug. He had to admit that this girl was smarter than Christine.

 _She does have a point._

"And if I am waiting?" He glared down at her, taking a step forward. She took a step back.

"Then I guess I'm a sitting duck." She turned from the edge and moved to study one of the metal statues on the roof. The Phantom watched her with disbelief.

Even his Christine had become terrified of himself, which destroyed him. His sweet, _sweet Christine . . ._

He wondered if this girl was anything like her, and then laughed to himself internally. _No one could ever replace her._

"Erik," he said, shaking Alison from her thoughts. "My name is Erik."

She turned and smiled kindly at him, extending a hand. He looked at her curiously, and confused all at once. Then he took her hand felt the same strange feeling he had once he saw her eyes. She did as well, but only managed to raise an eyebrow before hiding her emotions.

"I'm Alison Monahan. It's nice to meet you," she said. "Even though I saw you when you dropped the platform."

"I stand by my actions proudly," he replied, looking down at her.

"I figured enough." They both heard rapid footsteps approaching the door to the roof, and they looked at each other for a few seconds. Erik walked from Alison as she looked to the door as if she could see through it. When she turned back around, he was already gone.

"Wait!" she called out, looking around for him. He watched her from behind a statue, knowing it would be impossible for her to see him. She sighed in disappointment and the door to the roof opened.

"Mademoiselle! Is something the matter?" Adele asked, panting as she rested against the door. "I saw you running here, and I was curious!"

"I thought I saw something, that's all," Alison replied, and looked around the roof of the building again. She looked off at the view of buildings and, further away, the famous landmark.

"Phantom, no?" Alison said nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Alison thought about her conversation of the roof for hours after it happened, and eventually began to question if she had hallucinated the whole thing. It didn't seem possible for him to just disappear the way he did, she believed, and even more impossible for her not to see him the next morning.

While painting, she would feel that he was there but she never saw him. She would find objects in places she hadn't seen them in before. Letters commonly laid on desks of the heads.

Alison worked alongside Madame Petit quietly as they tied ropes. Of course, she listened to the critic and followed advice when it was given. She still was too afraid to ask Madame Petit anything personal.

It was then that Alison met more of the stage performers of the night as they ran to the stage with their costumes firmly placed on. She stopped her work, smiling, and watched as they passed by. She wondered if her mom was ever the same way as them - joyous, living life. Then she remembered she _had_ been before having kids.

A hard foot came down on hers and she jumped from her reverie to glance up. A tall woman walked past, nose up in the air as she passed. When they met eyes, her brown ones narrowed to mere slits and she stopped to put her hands on her hips.

"Watch where you are going!" she snapped harshly, waving a finger in the air. " _Do not ruin my costume!_ "

She glanced over Alison, then raised an eyebrow.

"Name?"

"Alison," came the response, and she heard Madame Petit turn around.

"Obviously not a dancer. Singer? Hardly." She tilted back her head in a loud laugh, drawing the attention from the dancers. "Out of my way, _or else_!"

Alison moved to the side and the woman walked past with her hips shaking.

"Eden," Madame Petit said from behind Alison. "Second leading."

"I didn't-"

"No one ever does. Get back to work." Alison nodded and wound more ropes in silence. Madame Petit did as well and looked to the rafters as she worked. "Do not worry about her. She is rude to us all."

"Even you?" Alison regretted the words, but Madame Petit took it in good humor and laughed.

"Ah, of course not. She is still scared of me." Alison followed Madame Petit's gaze to the rafters and looked up, searching for Erik. She wondered if he was there, waiting, or if he heard everything. It was simply black. "He is not there."

"What?"

"The Phantom." Madame Petit looked at the ropes she was working on without saying anything else. It was as if she was talking about the weather. "You have seen him, no?"

"Yeah," Alison replied with stiffness in her voice. "A few times."

"A few times? My girls only have ever seen him once, maybe twice." She raised an eyebrow at Alison, looking over her face carefully.

"Strange," she mumbled before placing the coiled rope in its place again.

"Come back in two hours. You are dismissed for now." Alison nodded, secretly pleased, and made her way to the seats of the theater. Alison wished to explore and she was excited for the time to do so. The janitors were cleaning the seats as she passed, or swept the floor, or polished the balconies. Alison smiled at them as she passed, then pulled out her phone as she reached the front of the building. She sat on the stairs with a sigh, opened her camera, and took a few pictures of the area. When she did, she went back to the camera roll to look at them. Most of the pictures were completely normal except for one.

She hadn't seen it until she zoomed in on the area. She very clearly saw a white mask. When she looked up, he wasn't there or anywhere in sight. She said nothing about the picture, but kept it on her phone for reference.

When the show would be starting soon, she returned backstage to assist with the final touches. The actors were backstage practicing. Eden hadn't forgotten about Alison, either, and sent glares every chance she could.

People began to flood into the theater before the show was to begin, and Alison looked at them from behind the curtain. She felt nothing special, as it was something she had seen many times. But when she looked to the 5th balcony closest to the stage, she raised an eyebrow.

He was sitting there, waiting for the show to begin. He looked over the audience, then the stage, and repeated the notion again. Alison continued to stare at him until he noticed her watching him.

She waved up to him with a soft smile, and he simply watched her. He was confused as to why she wasn't frightened - for the years he had been there, he had always frightened the stagehands and the performers. Several of the girls who worked for Madame Petit even stayed away from what was once his room, where he often entered to the catacombs beneath the opera house.

She didn't seem as afraid as the others, though. She was . . . _friendly._ He had tried to scare her since day one, but it never seemed to affect her. It scared her for a few hours, yes, but never more.

 _Foolish girl,_ he thought bitterly. _She does not know what I am capable of._

 _Neither did Christine._

He glared at the stage at the thought of her. Christine was someone who had been on his mind since she had left and never left. He missed her. The thought was enough to send him near tears.

He looked to Alison, still watching him but with a curious gaze. Madame Petit walked up to her as their eyes met, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. She seemed hesitant until it was apparent Madame Petit was lecturing her.

When she had retreated and he could no longer see her, he sighed. He didn't care for this Alison all that much - in fact, she managed to annoy him. She always wanted to see him, when others didn't. She followed him up to the roof once. She talked to him, even when he didn't want her to. She was a painful child to deal with.

But at the same time, he had to admit she was kind and her aura was different than the others. Even Christine's had been different, and it had been somewhat melancholy. While this girl's was as well, it was overpowered by the ability to smile and speak nice words. He had seen the way she treated others she met. He had seen how she reacted to the repulsive girl named Eden. He had watched her relationships grow stronger with the days that passed.

Yet, he wished to know where she had come from. She never spoke of her past, or her family, or anything of the such. He had seen her pictures on the wall, but never knew who the people were with her.

 _Why should I wish to know this?_ He suddenly thought to himself, raising an eyebrow. _She is no Christine._

And she wasn't - she was simply (or so he thought) a stagehand.


	7. Chapter 7

The show had gone by without incident, pleasing every stagehand that had worked on the set. They were happy the phantom had not made himself apparent by killing or seriously injuring someone on the set. Even then, however, several of them believed it to be too good to be true.

That morning, the set painters had the day off and Alison slept in. She was pleased when she woke up to the mid-morning sun shining in through the window, to feel the warmth of her blankets. When she checked the time, it was nine in the morning and she wondered if she should call her dad.

 _No._ She sighed to herself, looking at the contact on her phone with sadness. _If he missed you, he would have called you._

She turned off the phone, then sat up in the bed. She was excited for the day and hoped to see more of the city. Alison followed her usual morning routine, put on a casual outfit, and stepped out of the room. She walked to Adele's room and knocked. There was no response for a few seconds, and she knocked again.

"Come in," came the groggy, sleepy voice of Adele. Alison smiled to herself and opened the door to peek her head through.

"Hey," she said, and looked at Adele's wild hair and sleep expression.

"What?" she asked, then threw the pillow over her head. "Something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out with me today. I haven't seen the city yet." Adele peeked at Alison through the pillow with an unreadable expression.

"Give me ten minutes, and we will go." Alison nodded and left the room. She leaned against the wall next to her bedroom door with a soft sigh. She played on her phone as she waited, laughing every once in awhile as she heard Adele clattering around in the room. In twenty minutes she finally exited the room with her hair pinned up and fresh clothes on. They were nicer than Alison was used to seeing.

"Ready to go?" she asked, slinging a small pouch over her shoulder. Alison nodded and followed her friend, still half-asleep, down the stairs. "So, where do you want to go first? My vote's breakfast."

"Works for me. Know a good place to eat?"

"Of course, mademoiselle! Let us walk two blocks, and I will show you the greatest brunch in the world!" She looked genuinely excited as they walked from their rooms, past the stage, and out of the front of the building. The air was warm and the sun was out, pleasing Alison as she looked over the intricate details of all the buildings. It was a change from America, that much was certain.

They walked down the street, sometimes stopping when Alison wanted to take pictures. They then arrived at a small restaurant filled with people, some sitting at tables with various foods and others typing on laptops.

"What would you like?" Adele asked, turning. "I can order it for you, if you like."

Alison looked over the menu, and decided on a strawberry crepe. She handed Adele the proper amount of money and went to find them a table. Soon enough, Adele came back to the table with her change and two plates of breakfast.

"This definitely tastes better than American crepes," Alison said as she took her first bite. "This is _amazing_."

"Really?" Alison nodded, and Adele smiled at her. "What is American food like?"

"Greasy." Adele laughed loudly, almost spitting out her food in the process. Alison stifled a laugh.

"Oh, that is not good."

"Agreed." Alison paused, looking out the window at the people who passed on the street next to them. "Adele, what can you tell me about the Phantom of the Opera?"

Adele raised an eyebrow as she took another bite of her own crepe.

"Well . . . I do not know, Ali. Mr. Agen still pays him over 20,000 francs each month. Not that it hurts the theater, of course." She took a drink from her water. "He fell in love with Christine Daae, the mademoiselle with a portrait under the 5th balcony. It did not work out."

Alison recalled the story, and felt interest in the book all over again.

"Then what?"

"He died sometime between then and now, of course. He never left the theater. He still pulls silly pranks on us. Never one to talk, either." She finished at last and Alison finished eating.

She wasn't sure why she was so curious about Erik - he seemed mean at times, but she felt that he never meant what he did. He was almost like her mother in a way, but nothing could compare to what she did.

At the memory, her natural smile faltered for a few seconds before she pushed the memory away. Adele noticed, and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Alison wished she had.


	8. Chapter 8

They arrived at the theater later that night after a day of shopping, visiting landmarks, and laughing. Alison was glad to have experienced more of the city with Adele, as she learned more about the girl.

Adele was one of five other girls, and she had grown up in rural France. Her father was a farmer, her mother a seamstress, and her sisters all had different talents. Adele happened to love painting, and applied for a job at the theater. They hired her after seeing some of her work.

Alison took Adele about America as well - specifically, the landmark cities. She didn't mind talking about the cities, but the more she did, the more she longed to see them again. Homesickness was not a good friend to her.

As she was unpacking bags, Alison opened the wardrobe and suddenly remembered that the hatch was still there. She had tried to avoid use of the wardrobe since its discovery, but it had somehow slipped from her mind during the fun she had that day. She set down her new clothes, looked over the hatch, and sighed.

She was hesitant about her next actions, but decided that exploring the hatch would ease her mind. She pulled the hatch and lifted the screen, looking into the dark tunnel. Once again, she hesitated.

The hatch was large enough to fit through, she knew, and it had obviously been used for that purpose before. It was only a matter of how she would find her way out if she got lost in the catacombs beneath the theater.

She stood and walked to the vanity. Alison looked over her makeup products before her eyes landed on a tube of bright coral lipstick. She smiled and pocketed it.

The hatch was still open, and she held her phone in her hand with the flashlight on as she crawled through the small hatch. Her feet hit the stone ground and she allowed herself to drop the rest of the way.

Alison turned from the hatch and looked around at the tunnel. It was dark, dirty, and smelled like dirt. It didn't faze her enough to force her out of the hatch, and neither were the nerves building in the pit of her stomach. With the flashlight still on and the tube of lipstick now in her free hand, she took a few steps forward to look at the walls.

They had spaces for candles, but the candles had long ago burnt out and the metal of the candelabras had rusted. Adele had been correct - no one had been down there for years.

She stopped 100 feet from the hatch to bend down and leave a bold coral-colored stain on the stone. Once there was a simple line there, she moved on further down the tunnel.

It was quiet in the tunnel, save for the few squeaks of rats or the scurry of their feet. They didn't bother her, though, and she didn't bother them. She noticed a turn-off a few hundred feet down the tunnel and debated about which way to go - straight ahead, left, or right.

She made another mark pointing to the tunnel she was at before turning left, down a similar hall. The only difference was that it looked as if it had been more recently used, with candles still in mid-use and another recently put out. She felt pricks of fear up her neck as she realized someone had been there just minutes before.

She turned around to leave the hallway with fear coursing through her veins, light shining down on the stones of the tunnels. She reached the four-way of the tunnels, searching desperately for the marks, before she realized with horror that they were gone.

Panic ensued next as, no matter how much she squinted or shone the light, she couldn't see down the halls. It was as if someone had followed her, erased the marks, and plucked at her brain for the memory of all sense of direction.

"Shit," she said between loud gasps of air. "Shit, _shit, shit_!"

The rats now frightened her as they scurried past, and she stayed along one wall. Alison had no idea what to do, and all logical thought had left her mind long ago.

 _I'll just go this way, and pray for the best. Pray I don't die._ She gulped, and began to walk in a random direction. Her hand held onto her phone tightly and her feet felt like collapsing under her. _This was such a bad idea. I can't believe I came down here in the first place._

She flinched as she heard a rat pass a few inches from her feet.

 _Definitely don't like rats._ She turned down another tunnel and noticed it, too, had candles still in use. _Oh no . . ._

She passed quickly through the tunnel in the darkness, careful to listen for any foreign noises. There was hardly any noise at all. There were the rats, of course. The insects that chose to live underground. And there was -

 _. . . Rushing water?_ Her head perked up as she heard the familiar sound. She walked towards the sound at first, and then began to run. Within minutes she had reached a clearing that held several other tunnels around her, and a river of water that passed straight through the area. Alison wasn't pleased to be so far from the hatch, but was happy to see water. _That has to mean I'm close._

She followed the flow of the river, which was moving rather slowly. There were candles lighting the area next to the river every so often, leaving Alison both intrigued and scared. Irregardless, she continued on.

She walked for what felt like hours before reaching another clearing of tunnels surrounded by the same rivers. She furrowed her eyebrows and felt like screaming, wondering if she had somehow gone in circles.

Alison sat down on the ground outside one of the tunnels with a huff, looking over the river as it slowly moved. She rubbed her face with one hand, checked the time on her phone with the other, and then tried to find a solution of getting out of the catacombs.

Erik, of course, knew them like the back of his hand. He had been through them several times and watching this foolish young girl was amusing to him. He had first known she was inside the labyrinth of tunnels when he went to the hatch in the wardrobe and saw that it was already open. When he had looked into her room, it was empty and her things hadn't been unpacked.

He found her quickly, thanks to her lipstick marks along the ground. He disposed of them as soon as he spotted them after deciding it would be fun to play a little game with her.

He didn't care for her, and decided that by messing with her, she would finally fear him and never pursue him again. Her annoying personality, her annoying presence . . . no longer.

He managed to trick her into losing sense of direction by distracting her with lit candles, and then erasing the last of her marks. Her fear had made him stifle several laughs. He followed her as she only got herself lost further and further away, and he wished to see her give up at once so he would win the game and take her back.

But, even after two hours, and even after she sat at the river's edge, Erik knew that she was capable of more than he gave credit for. He could see in her eyes that she was a fighter and there was little to no chance that she would stop until she was physically unable. It annoyed him further, but he couldn't help admitting it was rather impressive. She stood up once again with the same fighting glint in her eye, and Erik continued to follow her through the catacombs silently.

He was careful not to make any noise as he walked, and so far, she hadn't noticed. They walked for another few minutes before Erik began to recognize the changing masonry, the sculptures along the walls. By the time he realized it was a place he had set a trap for Raoul all those years ago, it was too late.

Alison screamed as her foot hit a faulty tile, and she went crashing through the tiles of the ground. She disappeared before his eyes with a loud scream, followed by a _thud!_ Before it was silent.


	9. Chapter 9

_Part of me wishes her to be dead. The other is afraid of Madame Petit's anger._ Before he knew what he was doing, Erik was at the edge of the tiles where Alison had disappeared. He instantly regretted allowing her walk down this certain part of the catacombs, but another part of him was pleased. _You feel bad, and you know it._

As much as he disliked the girl, he had to admit that he hadn't meant to harm her. He only wanted to scare her away.

He wasn't even sure himself why he disliked her so much - she had always been kind to him, and she didn't want anything. But, she always pursued him like a lost stray!

He looked into the abyss and peered down. He saw nothing, and stood up to fetch a lantern along the river. He walked back and spotted her down in a couple inches of water, face down, unmoving. He sighed to himself.

 _Well, she is dead. She_ is _no longer pestering me._ Then he paused, looked at her long hair, and then to the lantern. He felt as if there was an internal battle in his mind on whether to fetch her body or leave her there. He knew that she was a genuinely nice person, but what would the world miss?

 _. . . The kind of person you have wished for all your life._ He shocked himself at his own persistence and words, but realized that people like her were the type he, as a child, wished to be around. _She is not Christine, you know so. She never will be. Why let her stay there, then? After this, you will never need to speak to her again._

As the seconds passed, he made his decision and lowered the lantern further into the hole. He kept it on a jagged edge before rushing to find a rope. He found it in one of his many hiding places and tied it around a large pillar. He lowered himself into the hole carefully and stopped once he was in the water next to the girl. His eyes widened.

 _How in all nine circles of hell can she be alive?_ Her back was moving, and her shoulders twitched as if she was still alive. He pulled up the top half of her body, revealing her face under the lantern. It was bruised, her nose was bleeding, and she had a cut on her cheekbone, but she inhaled a deep breath of air once it was offered.

Her eyelids were still shut, but she was alive. And he suddenly wished that he had the heart to leave her there, in the deep cavern, to die.

Instead, he placed her against his back and began to climb. He held onto her hands, which were incredibly cold, and made his way up. It was difficult, but he managed to get there soon and set Alison onto the ground.

He assessed the damage he had caused. Her arm was bruised and there was a lump protruding near her wrist. Luckily, he saw no exterior damage anywhere else and figured she would be fine.

Then he realized he couldn't just _leave_ Alison in her room for the others to find. He couldn't take her to a hospital, seeing as it was difficult as a Phantom. Madame Petit would be asleep, and she would not want to be bothered. That left one option for him.

 _Great. I have to deal with this impertinent child for the next few hours._ He hastily lifted her from the ground and carried her down the tunnels with an arm under her knees. Her head lolled to the side as he walked her towards his cave. In her slumber, she looked mad - it was as if she knew what he had done.

He reached his little boat tied at the edge of the river a few minutes later and placed her inside. She still didn't move and Erik wondered if she had hit her head as well. Then she started groaning, talking, and singing in her sleep. He rolled his eyes at her as he paddled along until he heard something strange fall from her mouth.

"Angel of music . . ." she softly said, almost a whisper. He stopped paddling and looked down at her to see if she was awake. She wasn't. "Hide no longer . . ."

 _How does she know of our song?_ He thought to himself angrily. He wanted to throw her into the river and never see her again.

 _She is not in the right state of mind. It is mere coincidence._ He slowly paddled again until he reached the cave and tied off the boat again. When he lifted her, Alison's blue eyes fluttered open and he was hit with the strange feeling he felt on the roof.

"Phantom?" she asked softly, and her eyes looked over at the cave walls. "Where are we?"

"Rest your eyes, and do not speak," he said gruffly as he carried her towards the cavern that he had once deemed Christine's. He still had her various gifts and dresses there, but the swan bed had been replaced with a grander one. Alison obeyed and closed her eyes, and Erik pulled back the sheets. He placed her on them and held her wrist out.

"What happened to me?" He stood to fetch bandages for her wrist, but stopped when he heard her voice.

"What did I say about speaking?" he asked, and continued to find something. He did and came back to see she had her eyes open and she was looking around the room. When he walked back in, she let her eyes stay on him. She watched as he wrapped her wrist tightly to keep it from moving. When she let out a gasp of pain, he stopped and looked at her.

His hands told him to pull tighter, but his mind told him not to.

"I will give you some herbs to send you to sleep." He walked to the old vanity, examined a few jars, and pulled one out. She continued to look at him with a half-asleep gaze.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Is that all you do? Ask questions?" She raised an eyebrow at him, then shook her head and turned her gaze away. He crushed the herbs into a small glass of water and held it to her lips. She looked at him as if he was crazy. "Drink it, or I'll force you."

She obeyed and gulped down the liquid before laying back on the pillow.

"I know you don't like me," she said after a few moments of silence. He looked at her and realized she was delirious.

 _She must have hit her head._

"Go to sleep."

"But I like you. I think you're nice." He raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened involuntarily at her words. She smiled and laughed at his expression, then lifted her hand to his nose. She flicked it lightly. "And I think you secretly like me, too."

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell silent. Erik said nothing - he simply stared at the girl for a few minutes as she slept, wondering if what she said was true.


	10. Chapter 10

Erik stayed at her bedside for a few hours after she fell asleep. He watched as her chest rose and fell quietly, listened to the words she spoke in her sleep, and rolled his eyes when she managed to make a mess of her hair. She was obviously messy in her sleep, he learned quickly - the bed sheets were sprawled everywhere, a pillow was down by her feet, and she had moved onto her side. It only angered him further to be stuck dealing with this girl.

He flipped Alison onto her back, moved the pillows back, and pulled the blanket over her again. She groaned in her sleep and instantly moved onto her side again.

 _Ridiculous._ He shook his head and looked at her serene face. The bruises on her face had gotten larger and her face was swollen. There was still the cut on her face he had yet to tend to and decided to busy himself doing that.

He fetched bandages and a small antibacterial wipe. He had found a first aid kit years ago when the theater was required to have them in certain locations, and figured it may come in use one day. Today was that day.

He opened the wipe, stared at it curiously, and then stuck it to her face. He left it there for a few seconds to look for a reaction, and when there was none he removed it to replace with a bandaid. Once it was secured on her face, he found his eyes lingering to other places on her face that he shouldn't be looking at.

Her eyebrows. Her eyelashes. The scar on her forehead. The mole on the right side of her face.

He shook his head at himself and turned to put away the kit.

 _Foolish. I hate this girl._ He glared at her sleeping form, but then his gaze softened. _Then why are you keeping her down here? Why didn't you let her die?_

He was ready to smash a mirror at his internal battle when he heard Alison stir from her slumber. Her eyes slowly slid open and she looked around at the room with pain in her eyes. When they landed on the Phantom, they slightly widened before she slid away.

"You," she said, breathing heavy. She couldn't remember much of anything, other than at one time she had been walking and the next . . . darkness. Now she was in a place she didn't know, sitting next to the ghost of the theater. He looked at her, tilted his head, and said nothing. "What happened?"

"You fell," he said, and noticed that her voice was soft again. It wasn't ditzy or delusional - just soft.

"I know _that_. How did I get-" She went to sit up and pushed on her wrist. As soon as she did, a sharp gasp left her mouth and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She fell back onto the bed helplessly.

"I pulled you out." She looked at him, unbelieving. She wondered how he had found her but decided not to question it.

"Oh . . . well, Erik, thank you." He looked at her curiously, surprised by what she had said. "You saved my life."

"You are welcome." He couldn't believe that she had thanked him. He hated her, and the words she spoke made him feel sorry for what he had done to her. It even made him wonder if he just hated the girl because he could. He still couldn't pinpoint _why_ he hated her.

They both went silent and Erik stood from his chair next to the bed.

"Madame Petit will be awake by now. I will escort you to her chambers." Alison nodded and stood from the bed with Erik awkwardly lingering close by to make sure she didn't fall. He turned his back from her and walked from the room. She trailed behind as they walked to the main section of his home, and she stopped in her place with an amazed sigh.

Erik stopped, annoyed, but once he saw the fascinated look in Alison's eyes he realized that he shouldn't ruin her moment. It was the same look he had given Christine at one time in his life.

"Is this your home?" Alison asked, studying the candelabras and then the piles of books.

"It is." He crossed his arms as she drifted around the cave, careful not to touch anything or linger for too long.

"This is a writer's haven," she said, smiling softly. "The piles of books reminds me of home."

Against his will, Erik grew curious as to what she meant. She brushed a thin layer of dust from a few books and looked back at him to see him furrowing his eyebrows.

"Your home?" he said at last. He wanted to slap himself for striking conversation with the girl.

"Well, my room, specifically. I love to read." She looked over the books with a sad look in her eyes, Erik noticed. She seemed to be thinking of something from the past. "It distracts me. I ran out of bookshelf space in my room, and I have piles of books everywhere. What kind of books do you like?"

He didn't want to answer, but something from his mind told him to. Against his stubbornness to ignore this girl, Erik replied to her question.

"Classic. Music." She nodded, then looked up at him.

"I like music books, too, but probably not the ones you mean." At his confused look, she smiled. "Modern music."

"I see." Despite the bruises on her face, she still had a way of making the room brighter. She had a slight limp to her walk and she winced as she went around the room, but it didn't seem to keep her from what she wanted to see.

"You've read Phantom of the Opera, right?" she asked, tilting her head curiously.

"I am aware of the book, yes." The thought of it made him scowl. When he had first read it a few years before his death, he was furious and wished to hunt down the author. He hadn't captured Christine's beauty. The author made him out to be a villain, and Raoul the hero. He didn't capture important details. It was a mess to him.

"It's a favorite of mine," Alison admitted, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Actually, it's my favorite piece of French literature."

"Why."

"Well . . ." She stood straighter, but flinched at the pain in her leg and leaned against a writing desk. "I like the complexity of the characters. It's hard to find something like that in books nowadays."

"It is unrealistic."

"But didn't it happen?" He glared at her, and she looked to the ground. Erik suddenly remembered what he wanted to do and beckoned her away from his space. She limped to him and followed him to a little boat.

He offered a hand to help her in, but she politely declined and sat down. Erik stood behind her and began to paddle them away. It was silent between them, and Erik enjoyed that, but she ruined his pleasure by speaking.

"I think you would really like _The Great Gatsby_ ," she said, turning to look at him. He continued to stare straight ahead with a stern gaze. "If you want . . . you can borrow my copy. I mean, you don't have to, but . . ."

"Leave it in balcony 5." She turned around and smiled brightly to herself, making a mental note to leave the book where he had said. They reached another area of the catacombs and Erik tied off the boat and watched as Alison stood. As soon as she went to step from it, however, it began to lean.

As soon as she lost her balance, Erik's instincts kicked in and he caught her around the waist. She gasped at the sudden events and held onto Erik's arms to help steady herself. She looked up with fear in her eyes, and Erik noticed that there was something else in their blue depth.

He didn't want to let her go. Her curvy waist felt nice under his hands, her arms gripping his felt right, and he enjoyed the feeling of vulnerability he had over her. She moved, breaking his trance, and he allowed her to stand straighter.

"Be more careful next time." She nodded and followed him up a set of stairs to a corridor. It was silent the rest of the way through the labyrinth of tunnels before he led them to a two-way mirror into a dressing room. He slid it aside and allowed her to step through first. He shut it again and Alison estimated it was sometime in the morning. When they stepped from the room and she heard the few voices from backstage, she knew it had to be.

"Wait here." He left her in an isolated corridor and strode down the hall with his cape billowing around him. She watched with a raised eyebrow, then leaned against the wall to look at her wrist. It was swollen and bruised and she flinched at the look. It was even worse that it was her painting wrist, and fear coursed through her as she realized she may lose her job.

 _I can't!_ She thought, tears coming to her eyes. _I've worked so long for this!_

She heard approaching footsteps and dried the tears, trying to look as natural as possible.

"You are lucky I do not smudge the whole property!" She realized the angry voice of Madame Petit, and saw her short form getting closer down the hallway. When she was directly in front of Alison with her stern eyes looking over her face, she only began to look angrier. She snapped her gaze to look at Erik like an eagle zoning in on its prey. "My newest addition, Erik. I am disappointed, after everything I have done for you."

Alison raised an eyebrow. Madame Petit lifted her wrist to look at, then sighed with anger once she realized it was her dominant hand.

"You _will_ make this up to me," she demanded. Erik looked to the ground and Alison could've laughed. _A ghost, afraid of a human!_

"Madame-"

"Do not begin with me!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "My employee was hurt at your cause! I will not simply overlook this as I have with other things you have done in the past."

She placed an arm around Alison's shoulders, guiding her down the hallway. Alison wondered how Madame Petit knew Erik seemingly well, but was too afraid to ask at the moment. In fact, she was afraid to say anything between the fuming woman and frustrated Erik.

"I will take you to the hospital," Madame Petit said. "I will call Josephine and inform her."

"Okay," Alison said, unsure.

"Where is your health card?"

"In my room." Madame Petit whipped around and snapped her fingers.

" _You._ Go fetch it." Erik turned around to make his way to her room, and Alison watched him until she could no longer see his retreating back.

He thought angrily to himself, and cursed ever meeting the girl.

 _I regret this._ He went back through the dressing room, through the mirror, and made his way through the catacombs. He wanted to stop and clear his mind, but he knew that Madame Petit would only make things worse if he stopped.

He reached the hatch to her room in no time and was pleased to see everything was still as it had been left. He slid through the hatch, stepped out of the wardrobe, and looked around. It was then that he realized he never asked Alison where this "card" would be.

Cursing himself, he looked through the drawers of the dresser, in the little nooks he had discovered years before, even looked under the bed. He eventually gave up, picked up the purse she had carried from the theater the day prior, and carried it out of the room to the tunnels.

Madame Petit and Alison were waiting on the marble staircase for him. He didn't look Alison in the eye as he handed her the purse.

She used her uninjured wrist to dig into the purse and pull out a navy-blue wallet. She fished out a white card, handed it to Madame Petit, and closed the purse.  
"You and I will be having a talk later," Madame Petit said with squinted eyes. "You are lucky for now."

She turned from the phantom, put an arm around Alison's shoulder, and led her out of the building.


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing Alison happened to notice about French hospitals were that there were less language barriers than she thought. The doctors - if not all - seemed to know exactly what she was saying. Madame Petit rarely glanced in the direction of Alison, instead vouching to speak to the doctors about the condition of Alison's wrist.

Despite what the doctors had done, she had managed to break her wrist in two places - healing was estimated at two or three months. When Alison heard the news when her wrist was placed in a cast, she almost choked on her own words.

"Madame Petit, I promise I will still be able to work," she pleaded, sitting straighter on the bed. "I-"

Madame Petit held up a hand, silencing the younger.

"In your condition, I do not trust your skills." Alison deflated like a balloon, visibly. "However, I am rather impressed with the skills you have shown me. When the wrist heals, I will allow you on set again."

"But . . . that's not for a few months." Alison furrowed her eyebrows and Madame Petit finally glanced at her from the corner of her eye as the nurse left the room for Alison's dispatch papers.

"I am aware. You will be taken care of for the next few weeks by Erik as compensation for what he did." Alison looked liked she was about to throw up, then her eyes widened.

"He doesn't like me."

"Well, then I suppose he will grow to. It could be a great thing for him." Alison knew better than to argue with her boss, and sat in silence as she mulled over her thoughts.

It was obvious the Phantom didn't like her at all. He didn't enjoy talking with her, and he had already tried to scare her several times. Yet . . . she knew that maybe he wasn't. She knew he didn't have to save her life, or accept her request that he read a book of hers. She felt conflicted like she never had before and wanted to sleep it all away.

Alison was happy when they were allowed to leave the hospital a few hours later, and even happier when they were standing outside the theater. Before she had a chance to go inside, however, Madame Petit pulled her aside.

"When they ask, tell them you hurt your wrist in the middle of the night when you fell down the stairs. I will send Erik to your room at 6 sharp. Got it?"

"Yes, Madame Petit." The older woman nodded, then led the way into the theater. Mr. Agen was waiting in the lobby of the theater as he checked the time on his watch. When he heard the two enter, he stood to greet them.

"Madame Petit, what has happened?" Mr. Agen asked, eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright. Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, sir," she replied quietly, then looked at her freshly bandaged wrist.

"She had an incident with yours truly," Madame Petit said, raising an eyebrow as she looked at the ceiling. "I have informed Alison of what she must say about it. We do not want to worry anyone else with such matters."

"I agree, Madame." Mr. Agen smiled gently at Alison, then nodded in her direction. "My sincerest apologies. I do hope you will stay with us?"

"Of course," Madame Petit said, hands on her hips. Alison closed her mouth. "I am lacking in painters, and she is the only one so far to not disappoint me. I will assign her to other duties while she heals. The first few weeks, she will be out. Doctor orders. I am giving strict orders to the Phantom to keep an eye on her."

"And what will the others say?"

"Simple. Alison is taking a trip to the countryside to visit her grandparents." Madame Petit looked sternly at Alison. "Assuming Kate and Henry still resided there before their demise?"

". . . Yes," Alison said, a little confused that Madame Petit knew their names. She didn't question it.

"Well, I suppose that will work," Mr Agen said, wiping his forehead. "I have to get back to work. I know you can handle this."

"Of course," Madame Petit said, then rolled her eyes as she led Alison quickly to her room. They passed the stage and when they did, Adele turned.

"Is she alright?" she called out.

"Never you mind! Get back to work!" Madame Petit barked, and Adele turned right back around to work. Josephine walked to the edge of the stage to meet them there and follow them to Alison's room.

"Pack your things while I speak with Josephine," Madame Petit said, and then shut the door after her. She could hear their muffled voices as she pulled her suitcase out from under her bed. She sighed heavily, and tears came to her eyes as she unzipped it. When she was packing her clothes her vision became too blurry and when she blinked, the tears fell.

She wiped them away violently, suddenly angry with Erik.

Things were so well, and he screwed it up! I love to paint, I can't do it with a broken wrist like this! She flopped on the bed next to the staircase, then looked at her wardrobe. If only I hadn't gone down there.

The door to her room opened and Josephine stepped inside. She smiled softly at Alison, then noticed the tears and lowered down in front of her.

"What is wrong, little one?" she asked softly, and Alison's tears fell all over again. Josephine rubbed a soothing circle into her arm and pet back her hair with her free hand. "Why do you weep?"

"I've let everyone down," Alison said, shaking her head. "I won't be able to paint for a month!"

Josephine let out a loud laugh, then smiled brightly at Alison's unimpressed face.

"That is all? Oh, dear Alison! Do not worry about that. Your spot is secured. Trust me, Madame Petit would have fired you already if she did not want you here." Josephine looked around the room, then at Alison again. "Do not worry. I know what really happened. Would you like me to help you pack?"

Alison nodded in response, stood up, and quietly went back to packing. Josephine helped her as well, making little comments every once in a while. And, as they worked, Madame Petit stomped to the vaults of the theater to meet with Erik. She waited at the waterside with her arms crossed and a stern expression on her face before Erik arrived on his boat. When he had tied it ashore and stepped on solid stone, her glare hardened.

"You _will_ make this up to me," she said harshly. "I know what you have done, although she may not! Since you are the one who is responsible for her injuries, it will be your duty to look after her."

Erik looked like someone had just ripped his mask off, with wide eyes and an unbelieving scoff.

"Me? To look after an _ignorant_ -" Madame Petit snapped her fingers and Erik went silent.

"She is more intelligent than you think. There is no argument here, or do I need to remind you of what I can do to rid of you?" She glared harshly at Erik, and he glared right back. He knew that she was capable of many things, and knew she could easily rid of him without lifting a single finger. But at the same time, he didn't want to dedicate his free time to taking care of a child.

"She is _your_ painter, not mine."

"I cannot be expected to watch after her. There's much to do around here in order to pay your ransom," she said simply.

"Then force her to work."

"And risk sloppy work? Of course not." Erik sighed heavily, frustrated. "You will fetch her at six, no later. If I were you, I'd get her bags for her now."

"Do you not understand I do not like her?" Erik asked at Madame Petit's retreating back. She laughed out loud and then turned to look at him.

"I did not, either. She will grow on you."


End file.
